


19th Batch

by Cyberrat



Series: Fic Batches [19]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Docking, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Enemas, Exhibitionism, Fisting, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Humiliation, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Male Lactation, Medical Kink, Mind Break, Molestation, Nursing, Oviposition, Sexual Roleplay, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia, Touch-Starved, Trans Male Character, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18742231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: 19th Batch of my fics





	1. Lúcio/Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Jack/Lúcio (implied Gabe/Lúcio) - possessiveness; dirty talk/slut shaming; roleplaying - Jack has an issue with Lúcio’s attire.

Lúcio has a bounce in his step when he enters the Strike Commander’s rooms. The little impromptu party for the soccer World Championship has been a huge success; he hadn’t even known there were so many soccer fans on base! The room had been packed full, people having a good time, and Lúcio still feels all but drunk on the good vibrations that had send through him.

Gabriel will be coming in shortly, and he can’t wait to snuggle up with his _papa_ and his _daddy_ while feeling nice and warm and tingly in his belly from the fun evening – and the time he just spent in the bathroom, gently fucking himself soft and open on his little fingers that couldn’t hope to replicate the immense stretch of his _papa’s_ or his _daddy’s_ cocks.

When he sees Jack’s stormy face, however, the smile immediately slides off his face, replaced by a timid frown while his muscles clench up on sheer muscle memory.

An angry _papa_ is scary… a lot scarier than an angry _daddy_ … but it is also usually very exciting.

“ _Papa_?” he says carefully and Jack’s face darkens. He waves him closer with an impatient hand, and Lúcio quickly obeys, stepping into the lazy spread of the Strike Commander’s knees. 

Nervous fear shivers through his belly, excitement making his balls draw up tight and feel tingly. It’s always weird with _papa_. He knows, on an intellectual level, that they are all just playing games; that Jack would never actually hurt him. But standing between his thighs and looking at him with his hard Strike Commander face, it is always easy to forget logic and just think with instinct-

and that instinct tells him to lie on his back and show his belly and spread his legs in submission.

“Had fun?” Jack asks, his deep, gravelly voice feeling like it is scraping along his nerve endings. The tips of Lúcio’s fingers start tingling along with his balls. It’s a weird connection, really. He stares at Jack with his mouth slightly hanging open, and only realizes he has to answer when _Papa’s_ mouth thins in displeasure and the corners of his mouth pull downwards.

“Y...Yes?”

Jack slowly looks him up and down.

“In _that_?” he asks with such derision that Lúcio almost groans, fingers curling into the hem of his soccer shirt, standing there like a little boy that is being scolded. He slowly looks down at himself. The things he is wearing are pretty normal soccer gear. He hasn’t worn them in a while, though, and Overwatch’s workout regimen has made him put up a bit more muscle than he anticipated, making the shorts a lot more snug than he remembered when last slipping into them.

They have ridden up his thighs a bit, wrapped snug around them, though not tight enough to really dig into the flesh.

“...Yes?” Lúcio whispers, unsure what _Papa_ is mad about. He stares at him with big brown eyes; they usually help with _Daddy_ … he’s a lot more lenient about letting Lúcio’s transgressions lie when his baby boy stares at him with big, shy eyes.

With _Papa_ , it is a 50/50 chance of it actually working. This time seems to be a miss.

“You look like a slut,” Jack says roughly and with a sneer. He reaches out, roughly shoving two wide fingers into the leg hole of Lúcio’s little shorts. He tests their give, and Lúcio can feel with a humiliated flush just how little there is. As in none. They are stretched as wide as they go around his muscular thighs, and Lúcio flushes dark.

“You been parading yourself around in these?” Jack continues with a sharp click of his tongue. Lúcio’s mouth has gone very dry, heart beating fast. He knows Jack can see the excited bulge of his little cock, but he does not mention it – yet.

“I’ve… been having a soccer party,” Lúcio murmurs, the tips of his ears burning. Jack, of course, knows it. He’s been there for a while, mingling with the rest before murmuring to Lúcio to come to his rooms afterwards.

“Bet there were a lot of people,” he drawls. He shoves his fingers into the waistband on Lúcio’s little soccer shorts and tugs them down. Lúcio just stands there and lets it happen, a soft wet gasp coming from him when his cock springs free into the air. He has opted to not wear underwear after fingering his cunt nice and open in the bathroom earlier.

“There… were,” he whispers, staring down in humiliation at his cock’s eager flush. The tip has partway pushed out of the foreskin and is glistening with wetness.

“No wonder. Parading yourself around like this. They probably thought you’d put out like the little hussy you are.” He looks up sharply when Lúcio starts squirming in protest and says with derision: “Or did you think they were actually interested in the sport? When a little cockslut like you is running around like _this_?”

He grabs Lúcio’s ass hard in one big palm, fingers inching inward until Lúcio is pulling up on the balls of his feet, breathing quick and excited. When _Papa_ feels the wetness of his hole, he frowns and sits back some, staring up into Lúcio’s open, wanting face.

“What is this? Have you been naughty?”

Lúcio shakes his head hard enough to almost hit himself with his dreadlocks.

“No… wanted to be prepared for _Papa_ ,” he whispers.

Jack’s face makes a few weird contortions before he sighs deeply and starts tugging Lúcio on his lap.

“Goddamn you’re way too cute to be mad at…”


	2. Hanzo/Elders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo/Elders – mind break; slutty Hanzo – The elders might have broken him too much.

The young heir looks a lot older in his new make-over, hair short and bristly and shoulders looking broad and regal in his specially fitted suit, but he still fucks like its his first time.

He is sensitive and eager, spitting his pitiful load to the ground long before whoever has mounted him is even close to pumping him full. They have wrung some four or five orgasms out of him and still, his cock is pink and erect, the tip wet like a dog’s drooling muzzle.

He is glistening with sweat and panting, but when the next elder steps close, kimono parted and strong cock pointing at the young master’s face, he opens his mouth willingly. Eagerly. There’s an exquisite beard framing his pink lips, trimmed to absolute perfection by the hairdresser that had gotten rid of the long, youthful style from before.

It is a pleasure to touch it; feel the silky texture and small bristles when one drags a finger against the grain. How perfect it feels when the young master drags his chin along one’s cock in his mindless show of adoration towards the cock he is servicing.

Hanzo has never been as diligent and perfect in showing his submission as he is now, after his brother’s demise. There’s something broken and dull in his eyes when he glances up, eyes glistening only when his jaw drops open for dick and his ass tilts up for a pounding; like nothing could fill the yawning emptiness inside him but cocks stuffing him full from the inside, belly first.

He will learn to restrain himself, even if they have to do this again. And again. And again. Training him day and night; not letting him rest until he can take cock like an Ojabun, with quiet dignity and enviable stamina.

They roll him onto his back, and his legs fall open like a puppet with its strings cut loose. He offers up everything he has, and while beautiful, it is simply not _enough_. There’s a puddle of cooling cum next to his hip and smeared tally marks all over his thighs, fingerprints on his hips from where they grabbed onto his legs and dragged through the wet ink before changing their grip and curling cruel fingers around his hip bones.

He looks like an absolute mess and still his cock is an angry red, as hard as it has been the first time.

Elder Himiko comes closer, rucking up the folds of her kimono, then straddling his face. Hanzo stares up at her with glassy, unfocused eyes, his tongue just as eager and soft for her folds as it has been for the multiple cocks already presented to him.

She suffocates him in a neat little thatch of grey pubes and when she has mercy and sits back to let him take a gasping breath, the euphoria of the feeling is enough to have him come again, his thighs pathetically shaking as his cock spits out a few strings of cum.

Another tally mark follows.

His neat little beard is not so neat anymore when Elder Himiko pulls off of him, a delicate flush to her cheeks and satisfied shudders still wrecking her body. It is smeared with her cum and his tongue tries to messily lap at it.

It is difficult to teach him decorum when everything they do to him is just fanning the flames. When they bring out a cane and whack his thighs every time he shows his enthusiasm too much, he only goes wlder for it, head thrown back and throat flushing a dark red as he lifts his knees and folds himself in two.

Offers the tender backs of his thighs up, begging for more, tears running from the corners of his eyes and trailing into the jet black hair at his temples.

They can fuck him like apes, slapping him, pinching him, riding his butter soft hole and spearing in deep, and Hanzo will howl for more, still grasping for more dicks with shaking hands and crawling on a barely obeying body towards Elder Himiko and begging for her strap-on to give it to him when every other cock is too old and exhausted to get hard for him.

In hindisght, having him kill Genji might not have been the masterful plan they had deemed it to be. They’ve eliminated the flighty little sparrow and broken the stallion’s spirit, but…

Hanzo is lying on the floor, ass in the air, hands spreading himself wide; he’s showing off the soft gape of his hole, an obscene red ring, puffy from use and slowly dripping a mix of cum that they’ve pumped his belly full with front and back; enough that when he coughed, a dribble of it was slipping out from the corner of his mouth.

They’re around him, exhausted, listening to him wail for cock, to be filled, to be kept warm when all he feels is cold, cold, cold.

They have miscalculated gravely… There seems to be something as _too_ broken. Not all is lost, however, It is not ideal, that the heir to the Shimada empire has turned out to be an even graver whore than that little brother of his.

They just have to play their cards right this time. They just have to gamble on the right horse to breed this broken stallion up.


	3. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack/scientists (Gabriel) – enema; humiliation; dom/sub; medical kink – Why is his goddamn physician so hot???

They have given a reason for the whole procedure, but Jack can’t really think of it anymore when the nozzle is carefully finagled out of his lube wet hole and replaced by a gloved finger that presses against him and makes sure to keep the water-and-soap mixture inside him.

He watches in dismay, as the scientist turns towards his assistant and exchanges the nozzle of the emptied enema bag with a new one. That one’s liquid is just as cloudy as the first one. Jack’s mouth drops open, sweat starting to pearl on his forehead. 

The one bag hadn’t looked that bad, but having it in his belly now he realizes just how _much_ liquid could fit into an innocent little enema bag. Or maybe he is just imagining things. It is uncomfortable to feel the soapy mixture slowly fill out his intestines. It is warm and invasive. There’s no way to stop the water from flowing where it wants to flow and filling out the spaces it wants to fill.

There’s the steady, calm finger of a guy with cute warm brown eyes making sure he doesn’t spill any. He’s been told to tighten up, and he did, but apparently the doctor has had enough accidents happen that he does not quite trust Jack to do it himself. 

The first cramp hits when the man leans across him and critically looks into his face. More sweat beads along Jack’s hairline as he tries to breathe through the feeling of a sharp hot knife through his gut. His fingers curl tight into the towel they have placed across his cock and balls for some bit of decency – but there is little to be had in his opinion with his feet in stirrups and his peach pink hole on display.

They’re all professional, but he can’t help but feel… weird; having these men in their white coats and with their white masks staring at his asshole taking enema after enema.

“You okay there?” the leading physician asks and Jack frowns. There’s absolutely no need for this guy to have a nice voice _and_ pretty eyes. His eyes flick to his nametag.

“Y-Yeah. Sure, doctor Reyes.”

Doctor Reyes’ eyes crinkle at the corners in what Jack feels is amusement. He’s not sure if the doctor thinks he is charming, or thinks it is adorable that he tries to keep being polite while the man’s finger is on his asshole and everybody in the room knows his guts are filled with a soapy solution that he is supposed to… dispose of. To get himself clean. Inside.

“Alright. Tighten up.”

Jack takes soft, panting breaths. He wants to protest and tell him that there is no way he can tighten up when his belly is feeling on fire and his guts are cramping and trying with all their might to expel the warm liquid, but… well.

Jack has always been good at taking orders. He’s always in the need to try and please his superiors, and with Dr. Reyes it is no different. The quiet, almost gentle authority with which he had spoken has Jack clutch at his little towel again, though not from pain this time. His cock is feeling warm and tingly, a direct contrast to the hot pain from his abdomen, and he realizes with some panic as he clenches up hurriedly, that he is getting a hard-on.

“Very good,” the doctor murmurs when he carefully pulls the finger away and sees no leakage. He readies the firm, slim metal nozzle and steps between Jack’s legs again. Jack feels a bit faint.

He stares between his thighs at the nozzle, then at the doctor – he is _broad_ and _muscular_ , and it is not _fair_ – and then at the second enema bag. It is full. It looks ready to burst. A few drops of sweat are running down Jack’s temple.

“Easy now,” the man between his thighs murmurs, but he pushes the nozzle in quick and precise even before he has quite finished speaking. Long before Jack’s overheated brain can make sense of the words.

The floodgates are opened, and the water pushes into Jack’s guts with slow and steady force that has his mouth gaping again.

He is flushed an ungainly brick red he is sure. He is sweating and now he is groaning too – long, drawn-out sounds as he braces his feet in the stirrups and tries to push himself away from the enema just as quickly as he stops doing it.

Working any of his muscles now just jostles the soapy solution in his guts and that… that is not a good idea. Not good at all.

He wonders how he is supposed to get up off the chair and waddle his way into the bathroom. The thought makes tears spring up to his eyes. He is wheezing breaths in and out and keeps clutching at his little towel while his belly gurgles ungainly and makes the tips of his ears feel like they’re about to spontaneously combust.

Why does his physician have to look like a goddamn wet dream while he is getting an enema and making a fucking fool out of himself?!

“You’re doing very well,” the man now says, his warm brown eyes between Jack’s thighs. Staring at his peach pink hole stretched minimally by the unforgiving steel of the nozzle.

Jack’s cock jerks and his belly gurgles humiliatingly. He lifts one hand and slaps it across his hot red face. 

Holy shit.


	4. McHanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McHanzo – drunk sex; whiskey dick; molestation (but it’s kind of ok? McCree would be flattered probably); slutty Hanzo; somnophilia – Hanzo is horny and McCree is sleeping. Doesn’t deter him to be honest.

It’s so easy to get McCree’s cock out. Hanzo thinks that if he didn’t want to get his dick dragged out of his open fly he wouldn’t have made it so easy to get at it in the first place.

In his head, his logic is flawless.

He doesn’t dwell too long on the ethics of what he’s doing. He’s _this_ close to shit-faced and McCree is propped up against the wall of the little tower they have on the roof of the base, hat across his face and snoring softly with his own drunken haze.

He’s there, and his cock is a fat bulge in his pants, and Hanzo is drunk enough not to care about how anything looks if the gunslinger were to wake up in the middle of being molested by his on-and-off-again lover.

McCree is not hard, but he’s fat and veiny nonetheless. From his open fly, the smell of a nice warm dick wafts against Hanzo’s face. He can all but feel the heat against his cheeks. He wants to feel the coarse hair against himself but all he manages to do is topple face first into McCree’s crotch and nuzzle sloppily at anything and everything he can find.

McCree’s cock stirs, but just barely. Hanzo has never met someone whose dick gets as useless as McCree’s does once he has overstepped a certain alcohol threshold. He still tries to get it to rise for him.

He sloppily slurps at the tip, sucking the soft, generous folds of foreskin between his lips and pulls it long, then lets it pop out with a lewd smacking sound while McCree snorkels above him and shifts slightly, then goes back on sleeping.

McCree himself is just as useless and sloppy as his dick. Big and substantial, and _soft_ in a way that makes Hanzo go wild.

Hanzo suckles the spongy tip into his mouth, tongue out, messily lapping at the hidden glans.

By the time he finally pulls back – a string of spit still connecting his bottom lip to the sadly drooping cock – he achieved nothing at all other than getting himself hot and bothered and whining as he squeezes his own dick through the loose pants he is wearing. McCree mercilessly keeps sleeping, snoring slow and unhurried. Hanzo can’t quite believe that he should be spaced out enough to not feel Hanzo all but ripping his cock off in his desperation to get it nice and hard for him. 

He lets go off himself and instead curls both fists around McCree’s dick. He squeezes and rubs and nuzzles. He drags McCree’s balls out, kissing and licking at them, trying to suck one of the fat nuts into his mouth and almost dislocating his jaw in the process. He cuddles with McCree’s dumb big cock until everything is wet and hot and Hanzo feels like he is going to vibrate out of his skin – and still he is not getting hard for him.

In the end, Hanzo has to take what he can get. He crawls on top of McCree; it takes stupidly long to coordinate his swaying body into compliance but eventually he is pressing the spongy tip against his hole; pouty and soft from experience. A nice cunt that is used to take some good abuse; the kind McCree can dish out when he’s awake enough to get hard and interested enough to fuck into Hanzo’s belly until he is pretty sure he is getting his guts rearranged into the exact shape of the American’s dick.

It’s a hopeless endeavor to try and stuff himself with McCree’s whiskey dick, but Hanzo is nothing if not determined… maybe even more so when he is drunk.


	5. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – Gabriel wrecks Jack’s formal attire.

Gabriel is sitting in the crowd when Jack holds his first speech as Strike Commander. He doesn’t need to sit in the crowd – shouldn’t even be there to begin with – but there he is, right smack dab in the middle, and smirking up at Jack with his big arms crossed over his big chest.

He’s not wearing any formal wear. Everbody else is, but not Gabriel. He’s there with his beanie shoved across what are most certainly very messy curls underneath, and a soft looking Blackwatch hoodie on his person.

Not like Jack who had to slip into formal wear that is perfectly tailored and absolutely doesn’t restrict his breathing but still feels like it does in front of all those people and rolling cameras as they expectantly look up at him.

Jack keeps staring at Gabriel who looks up at him, slightly slouched down in his seat like a recalcitrant schoolboy if it weren’t for the lazy little grin on his face and the jaunty wave his fingers wiggle at him.

Goddamn him for being so… so _collected_ and _cool_.

There’s a beep in his ear, signaling the start of his speech, and Jack takes a deep breath.

“I would like to thank you…”

.o.

Gabriel is watching Jackie on stage and he can’t make himself listen to the sound of his gravelly, deep voice when he’s so distracted by the sight of the suit he is wearing.

It is not necessarily the first time he’s seen Jack wear a suit, but he’s never really been in a position to notice it much above the rudimentary thought that Jack looks nice in it.

He _does_ look nice in it. Very nice. He’s got broad shoulders and a wide chest that is adorned with all the medals that brass has thought necessary to give him. He is twinkling in an underhanded kind of way (is there even something as an underhanded twinkling? Jack sure pulls it off anyway), and Gabriel is stuck just letting his speech wash over him while he wonders just how messed up he could make this prim pretty boy look.

He slouches a bit more just to hide the fact how interested he has started to become in his fantasies. The ladies left and right of him throw him slightly exasperated glances. They have no idea who he is; for all that they know he could be a hobo that just managed to somehow slip his way into the ceremony, but he doesn’t give a shit.

He is tapping his foot against the ground and waiting with mounting impatience for Jack to finish his grand first speech so he can try and figure out how to mess him up in person.

.o.

Gabriel slams Jack against the wall next to his office door, and Jack only gives a little token protest. He is wearing his stupid formal attire cap and Gabriel is reaching up and pressing it back more firmly on his head when it threatens to be jostled off to the ground.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” Jack grunts; he has trouble breathing with how Gabriel is pressed against his back. “And here I was thinking you were close to comatose during my speech…”

“Anything but, pal,” Gabriel breathes against Jack’s ear, making sure he can feel the warm puff of his breath. When he sees the small blond hairs on the back of Jack’s neck start to stand at attention, he smirks with satisfaction and leans back marginally.

Jack has close to no ass but the tailors made a bang-up job at trying to still give the illusion. It looks… very nice in those dark blue slacks.

When Gabriel frames the tight cheeks and presses them together, Jack grunts and angles his hips out.

“That your way of congratulating me?” he asks, not sounding particularly put out.

“We’ll see,” Gabriel drawls. 

Jack stays obediently put, even though he sounds confused when Gabriel starts rutting against his ass without making any move to open up his slacks. It takes him embarrassingly long to realize that while his cock is still nice and put away… Gabriel’s _isn’t._

His cock is out, dragging against the seam of Jack’s dress pants, trying his hardest to create a nice valley for himself as he gets the fabric dark and glossy with slick.

“Fuck… Gabriel… come on, don’t leave me hanging like this,” Jack whines, and for that he is allowed to turn around and get on his knees.

When he tries to take off his cap, Gabriel slaps his hand away and tells him to instead look up at him and ‘let him do his thing’.

He looks… amazing, really. His shoulders seem impossibly broad, the medals are gleaming in the light of his office. There’s not a goddamn hair out of place on him, except that Gabriel knows there’s a sticky snail trail of pre-cum now adorning the seat of his pants from where he rutted off on him.

Jack’s brows are crinkled in confusion. He has not caught on to a single goddamn thing because he can be almost adorably idiotic. He is staring at the glossy tip of Gabriel’s dick, pointed at his face, and he helpfully opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

The sight does indeed push Gabriel over the edge, but he does not necessarily direct the thick ribbons of cum pulsing out from him on the dark pink cushion of Morrison’s tongue.

His belly is full with magma as he watches his cum splash across the wide row of medals pinned to Jack’s chest, dripping thickly off of it in sloppy smears. Jack is still trying to process what has happened when Gabriel reaches down and grabs his tie, using it to delicately dab at his cock and get it presentable.

“Thanks. Really needed that.”


	6. Baptiste/Roadhog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baptiste/Roadhog – service top Roadhog; pillow princess Baptiste; soft dom; soft sex – Baptiste gets soft dommed for the first time.

If Baptiste had to put a label on himself it would be ‘service top’, most likely. He does not always think about it but he’s not too proud to admit that he has spent a few minutes here and there going into himself and wondering what others could see him as.

He’s also not too proud to admit that being faced with one Mako Rutledge, he is rather… overwhelmed, to say the least. There is a moment of his body doing a weird little false start as he wants to gear up for what would probably be his biggest moment as ‘certified service top’ by climbing that veritable mountain of a man and showing him a good time, before Hog turns and stares at him, huge belly slowly expanding and contracting with his breathing, and Baptiste’s insides shrivelling up on themselves.

He is a big boy, but Roadhog… well, Roadhog is just a big _man_. Huge, really. He thinks he has heard Lúcio describe him as an ‘absolute unit’, and Baptiste is tempted to agree with that assessment.

In the end, he is somewhat… relieved when Roadhog takes the leads with a quiet, self-assured calmness that speaks of him never having had any doubt on the matter. It is also good to know that he seems to have enough experience because Baptiste is… a fish out of water, to be exact.

It’s weird to be the one being taken by big hands and gentled down onto a bed. It’s weird being the one lying on his back, hole itching to get stuffed, and watching with breathless anticipation as his partner gets his pants off.

It is especially weird to be the one _whining_ when he sees the massive cock snuggled up and hard against the lower curve of Hog’s belly, a mix of fear and need washing through him. He’s not unused to the sound… but he has never heard _himself_ making it. It is raw and soft and vulnerable and has his breath stutter in his chest because he hadn’t been _intending_ to make that sound, but there it was and now Hog is making a deep, bone-rattling sound in return that Baptiste realizes is him _cooing_ at him.

Baptiste has seen this exact scenario a hundred of times but he has never been on the receiving end of a pair of big warm hands travelling up his thighs and petting his belly as the bed _dips_ when the fat man crawls on top of it.

He’s not used to being the one lying back and letting someone else take care of the rest, but Hog moves slow and calm, grabbing at him and positioning him, and when Baptiste reaches for him to at least give one of his tits a nice squeeze, the other catches his wrist and easily bends his arm back to be pinned above his head.

Hog’s face is solemn as he stares at him. There’s scruff on his cheeks from not having shaved in a while, and his small dark eyes are perceptive and intelligent in a way that has Baptiste’s belly do a slow flip. 

He feels more exposed in this moment, crushed beneath the big man’s belly and stared at with such quiet intensity, than he has second before lying there naked and waiting to be spread apart on what is the biggest goddamn cock he has ever seen in person.

It’s just logical, he assumes; Roadhog is a big, _big_ man, but… logic has little to do with it when he is getting spread open on fat fingers in preparation to get dicked down deep and thorough by said big dick.

Roadhog’s experience is as alluring as the rest of his quiet self-assurance is. Baptiste can’t help but make all those exquisite little noises that he usually tickles out of his own partners. There simply is no way to remain quiet when he is getting spread and filled to the absolute brim, and it feels like he is going to explode if he isn’t letting his stud for the night push all those little breaths and mewls and stutters out of him dick first.

It’s a bit difficult to breathe buried beneath Hog, but it is also… comfortable. Safe. He is surrounded by the heat and surprisingly soft skin of this man and has to just spread his thighs and offer up his hole for the experience of it all.

Hog’s large hands are curled around his calves, helpfully holding his legs apart and out of the way so he can rock into him again and again and again.

Baptiste is not sure when it happened, but sometime beforehand Hog must have smeared the lower curve of his belly with lube because now it is sliding and slipping across Baptiste’s cock and making stars explode in front of his eyes.

He’s never felt anything like it. He’s never had a partner like Mako Rutledge. He thinks he might become addicted. One less service top on this world because he has been dicked into willing submission by this absolute stud of a man.

If Mako has an inkling of what he is doing to Baptiste, he does not show it. At first. Somewhere between him shifting minimally until Baptiste cries out and slaps both open hands against his chest in a mindless flail and to him starting to use the grip he has on Baptiste’s legs to pull him onto his cock until Baptiste’s eyes roll back into his head, a slow grin has spread on his plump lips.

Enough so that Baptiste can see through hazy fuck-dumb eyes that his lower canines are a bit fatter and longer than usual; just as if they were the tusks of a boar.

And for some reason it is this innocuous fact that strikes him as so cute and adorable that he absolutely knows he has to come back.


	7. McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McHanzo – dirty talk; humiliation/degradation kink; voyeurism; 300 words – Jesse shows Hanzo off.

“No, no, no. Don’t close ‘em up. They can’t see a thing if you do that, now, can they?” Jesse croons, big hands grabbing a hold of Hanzo’s knees and pushing them apart wide enough to make it burn.

Hanzo can simultaneously feel his hole opening from the stretch – fucked butter soft and useless by Jesse’s big cock – cum trickling out, and the eyes of his fellow agents trained on the sight.

He groans deep and rattling and turns his head, pressing his hot face against the side of Jesse’s neck.

“Damn, McCree. Gotta put some diapers on him or something. Doesn’t look like that thing’s going to close up any time soon.”

Hanzo squirms, legs shaking impotently as he automatically tries to close them up again, the humiliation bubbling through him like a swamp. Jesse is laughing behind him. He can’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears, but he can feel the vibrations against his shoulder blades where they are pressed to Jesse’s chest.

Whatever he answers is lost on Hanzo as he gets jostled to make his head loll away from Jesse’s shoulder and instead stare back at their audience.

They’ve started trickling in on the tail-end of them fucking, and have witnessed the sight of McCree’s used-up cock sliding out of him with a wet squelch.

He’ll have to live with the knowledge that from now on, when they look at him – in the hallway, on the training range, on a mission – that the first thing they’ll think about is how his hole looks when it is freshly fucked. How it _sounds_ when it is freshly fucked.

How brick red Hanzo can get and how docile he is to letting McCree do whatever he so damn-well pleases.

He wonders if… anything will come of it.


	8. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – male lactation; nursing; fingering – Gabriel nurses and Jack has his own little bit of fun.

“No bi- _ah_! - I said _no biting_!” Jack’s fingers curl tightly into Gabriel’s hair, trying to wrench his head back from his abused nipple. He is met by resistance – of course – and grinds his teeth as he has to breathe through the sharp ring of pain around his puffy areola while Gabriel now starts laving over it.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” Jack growls and when no answer comes, he glances down only to find himself the recipient of one of Gabriel’s _stares_ ; wide eyes and intense and hitting him right to the bone. He’s never been able to say no to those pretty brown eyes. It is… downright unfair.

Gabriel makes a show out of popping off of Jack’s nipple. The sound is very precise and practiced but nevertheless lewd. There are droplets of white milk hanging in the whiskers of his beard and before Jack can move and wipe them away, Gabriel’s dark pink tongue already comes out to lap them up.

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” Jack rumbles. He wants to sound annoyed, but he can’t quite make himself do so, even though his right tit is now pulsing in time with his heart beat, Gabriel’s teeth having left a neat round ring around his areola. He carefully rubs at it and hisses, face contorting somewhat. Gabriel looks smug as fuck but does not answer. When they play like this, he usually goes sub-verbal. All prowling and growly and begging for a creamy milky treat.

Jack sighs, cupping his right pec and squeezing it gingerly. It feels sore and achy. His nipple tingles and tickles despite the bite, but when he tries to massage more milk out of him, nothing comes forth.

“You need to switch sides,” he instructs, voice gone deep and raspy with his almost whisper. For a moment he is not sure if Gabriel will obey, but then the big man finally moves away to not only stretch and clean his beard again, but also to crawl around and settle himself in Jack’s lap the other way ‘round, bringing his mouth to the perfect height to latch on to Jack’s left pectoral. 

There’s a hint of teeth; just the edges pressing into Jack’s puffy areola, and he pulls in a sharp, nervous gasp at it.

“No biting,” he reiterates, and Gabriel growls, deep and annoyed, but instead of marking up this teat as well, he simply starts suckling. It is… a relief. Both the lack of sharp, immediate pain, as well as the slow, hard drag that pulls out bursts of his milk that splashes in thin streams against Gabriel’s tongue.

Gabriel is a brilliant man, a tactical genius, and seeing him go this… feral… is, quite frankly, a vision. He is lying on his side, knees curled up and around Jack’s hips, basically wrapped all around him as he suckles his milk, hankering for it the whole day until he can finally get it in the evening when Jack’s tits are nice and full to bursting, waiting to be milked dry so he can sleep the night through without the dull ache of the milk… and without wetting through his sleep shirt.

When Gabriel loosens his seal to pull in wet, excited gulps of air, his lips are shining with a thin sheen of sweet milk, and his chest is bubbling subtly with what Jack can only call _purrs_.

It is surreal. It would probably even weird him out if he hadn’t witnessed it so often already. How Gabriel becomes this big lazy kitten that just likes to get its belly warmed with milk straight from the source.

And maybe… just maybe… get his tight hole fingered open on two of Jack’s fingers while he is nursing; because he is shuddering and mewling when Jack experimentally brushes the rough pads of his fingers across the pouty ring of his anus, and _damn_ if that isn’t the hottest thing Jack had ever witnessed.

Gabriel Reyes docile and purring like a rusty engine as he latches on to Jack’s teat once more, suckling furiously as he gets his needy ass played with.

Jack doesn’t have any lube on hand, but he thinks Gabriel can tough it out with a bit of spit after he’s been so liberal with his sharp little teeth earlier.

His beard is tickling distractingly when Jack wets one finger and starts pushing it into the tight clench, wriggling it around to get Gabriel to relax a bit. It’s difficult, but a bit of mean shoving gets the job done, and after just a few moments he has Gabriel gurgling in his lap, trying to keep suckling and at the same time fuck himself on that innocent little finger spearing into his hot insides.

Jack chuckles. He cups the back of Gabriel’s head, fingers carding through the hair that has been shorn short at the sides. He urges him closer against his still swollen pec, crooning at him as he rubs a finger behind his ear – and one against the silky, hot inside of his intestines.

If he twists his wrist just right, he can push in deeper and start nudging against his prostate. It has him close to howling, milk dribbling down Jack’s front as Gabriel pants hot and wet against his nipple and stares up at him in dumb arousal.

Jack grins at him and tries to twist a second finger into him. Gabriel hisses but he doesn’t pull away, so it’s all fair game in Jack’s book.

“Hey… you made a mess,” he croons at him, the hand at the back of Gabriel’s neck urging him down again and towards the few dribbles of milk down his abs.

Gabriel goes at it with renewed gusto, his hips wriggling and jerking as he gets fingered deep.


	9. Akande/Zenyatta + Maximilien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akande/Zenyatta+Maximilien – sex on a pool table; jealousy; exhibitionism; no humiliation – Maximilien lost a bet so now he has to watch.

Akande’s arm does a short, precise motion, and the ball zips into the pocket without a hitch. His gaze has been following the movement, and he is slowly grinning even before he rights himself up once more and turns towards the two individuals that have been watching him.

There is no facial expression, of course, no flicker of LEDs that would give Maximilien’s displeasure away, but it is still somehow palpable as he stands there with his arms crossed in front of his chest, back ramrod straight.

He is unhappy with the proceedings of the evening, and Akande couldn’t be any more amused about it. Zenyatta is sitting next to him on a table, legs crossed and looking like the trophy that he is. He, too, does not say anything, letting the moment sink in while the teal lights on his faceplate are gently pulsating.

He seems to be just as amused as Akande, even though he has been bartered away like a toy. He’s their prisoner, but they treat him like a pet; buying him outfits and jewelry and treating him to expensive dinners in which Akande will splurge on meats and vegetables while the omnics daintily sip on expensive silky smooth oils.

“Seems like you lost,” Akande finally drawls when the moment has gone on long enough. Max just stares at him, but the red glare of his eyes seems more like smoldering coals.

“Seems like all those advanced processors couldn’t keep you abreast with a pro like me,” he continues as he strolls casually over towards his prize. Maximilien is radiating enough heat to be felt across the small distance. He looks like a pouty little boy with his arms crossed in front of his chest tight enough to make the cue in the crook of his elbow softly crack. 

He seems to realize the same because he abruptly loosens his stance and puts the tool to the side, eyes fixed on the sight of Akande gathering Zenyatta up in his big arms and carrying him over towards the pool table. He makes it seem like the monk is just a slight little thing instead of a heavy metal doll.

“And it seems like you are a bad winner,” Maximilien finally comments cooly, hands lifting and daintily tightening his immaculate tie, then tugging down at the sleeves. He looks absolutely perfect, but it seems he has to work off some steam as he watches Akande put Zenyatta down on the green felt and lean over him.

The monk is quiet, mostly. He watches the two of them, interested as ever in the banter going back and forth, and obviously trying to calculate the possible outcomes for himself.

He’s an idiot, Max thinks with little charity. There is only ever one possible outcome for the monk: Being speared on one of their cocks and fucked into static incoherence.

There is no other acceptable end when it comes to their special little union regarding their permanent… guest.

If Zenyatta is unwilling about the arrangement, he does not show it. There has never been a hesitation or more than a microsecond’s worth of pause. He’s never asked about the teammates he’s had to leave behind after getting nabbed off the battlefield. He’s never shown any signs of homesickness.

He just is quiet and amused and enthusiastic, opening his arms just as readily as his legs after Akande drags the almost see through harem pants down with a roughness that has the fabric near tearing.

Zenyatta, all in all, behaves like he is on a vacation, and it makes Maximilien’s processors fizzle with annoyance. Especially since Akande does not seem to _care_. He just croons at the Omnic, ranging over him and loving how much bigger than the little slut he is. How good they look together, drawing the gazes of the rest of the bar as people look on in confused surprise and don’t dare to approach Mr. Ogundimu about his scandalous conduct.

No… Zenyatta even gets rewarded for his airheaded sluttiness and Maximilien has to just stand there and watch…

… and be reluctantly excited by it. He hates how much he loves watching the two of them. He hates how smug Akande looks, turning his head to make sure Maximilien’s faceplate is still directed towards the show he is putting on. He hates how there are thin streams of steam starting to slip out at the sides of his neck because there is no other way for his body to stop his slow descent into overheating.

Of course here, in midst of strangers looking on, Zenyatta would be the most vocal. He trills softly when Akande’s cock slaps against the mound he has been fitted with, nudging against slippery teal lips and the gorgeous clit sitting right at their apex.

Maximilien wants to cross his arms again, but that would make him look petulant – he _knows_ that – so he stuffs his hand into his pocket and drags out the perfectly polished coin he enjoys playing with.

He’s not jealous. He’s _not_. But Zenyatta is making sounds; little glitches and static sighs as he gets slowly spread on Akande’s cock… and Maximilien can’t help but think that _he_ should be the one doing this right now. Be a little meaner to the little harlot. Have him bounce on his cock until he loses that smug, satisfied aura he’s been draping himself in.

Oh well. There’s always a next time. They’re gambling men, after all.


	10. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – continuation of B18, F4 – more docking, more lingerie, more nastiness – Jack is the nasty one of the two of them.

Gabriel is wearing a bra to his whole ensemble and now that Jack is leaned over him, trying to remain still so Gabriel’s cock doesn’t slip from the folds of foreskin that he’s pulled across his best friend’s glans, he finds himself in the weird position of being unable to decide where to look at.

He needs to keep an eye on the way his pink foreskin bulges around Gabriel’s dick because if he doesn’t he think he might just spontaneously combust. But… Gabriel’s _tits_ in that _bra_ … 

He hasn’t even paid proper attention to it earlier, too fixated on the sight of the stockings clinging to dear fucking life and Gabriel’s cock trying to rip the dainty panties, but now… now he’s up close and personal with Gabriel’s chest, and the sight of his slightly soft pectorals filling the bra is… it is good.

Very good.

It makes his cock flex and drag his wet tip against Gabriel’s tip, and both of them can’t help but shudder helplessly. It’s been a long while since he had his dick kiss up to another cock like this, and he is frankly _shocked_ about how good it feels. Slippery and hot and very very smooth.

Gabriel has one arm thrown across his eyes so he does not have to look down and stare at the impossible stretch of Jack’s pink foreskin around his own fat glans.

Jack doesn’t have the same compunctions. Rather, he still can’t decide where to look first, blue eyes snapping from Gabriel’s tits in the frilly underwear down to their cocks.

Eventually, he just keeps his stubbled chin angled down against his collar bones and pants in chuffing, harsh breaths as he carefully starts moving his hips. If he is gentle enough about it, and holds them together just right, he can fuck his cock against Gabriel’s, trying to make their tips touch again despite Gabriel’s foreskin loosely slipping and sliding between them. 

He’s huffing like an engine, wrist cramping as he tries to find a way to hold his foreskin nice and secure while also being able to see the nastiness he is doing to his companion. And then he has an idea.

“H-Hey… Gabe…” Jack rasps, hips pausing, toes prickling with a slow, lazy orgasm that is rising like a massive, inevitable wave.

Gabriel still does not look, but he knows that tone of voice. He shakes his head, voice shot as he hisses: “No!”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask…”

“I know you’re full of shit, Morrison. No.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. There is pre-cum liberally seeping out from his foreskin and the fact that he does not know if it is his or Gabriel’s is making him all the more excited.

“Don’t be like that,” he croons and pulls back until Gabriel’s cock slips out of his foreskin and he can sit on his haunches. Gabriel hisses and reaches down, his fist curling around his cock, squeezing it in an almost painful grip. His shaft is wet with their juices; slippery to the point of easily smoothing the way when Gabriel starts jerking off almost automatically, thumb and forefinger pulling and pushing at his own silky foreskin.

“You already put on lingerie for me… What’s a bit more play gonna do?” Jack all but wheedles. They’re both old fuckers, but in moments like this – when he has to convince his husband and friend to let him fuck around with their dicks in new and exciting ways – he feels like a teenager all over again.

Gabriel draws in a shuddering breath, his firm gut jiggling with the motion. He finally peeks out from beneath his arm and stares at Jack, eyes glassy but definitely interested despite the front he is trying to put up.

“What are you thinking about?” he rasps. Jack grins at him. He leans down, hands framing Gabriel’s belly and pressing slow kisses against it just above his belly button.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” Jack croons, eyes turned up to watch Gabriel’s unimpressed face. “Just let me work my magic.”

“You are full of _shit_ , Morrison,” Gabriel reiterates, but he does spread his legs and sighs like he is submitting to the inevitable. Which, quite frankly, he is.

.o.

This is Jack’s magnum opus. It is sad, maybe, but here it is: Gabriel’s foreskin stretched to the absolute maximum; somehow managed to slip across the plump tip of Jack’s cock under the constant soft cursing and definitely-not-whimpering of his husband. Gabriel has hidden his face beneath both hands now, massive biceps trembling as he breathes into his palms and tries so very hard not to move his hips any more than he absolutely has to.

And, around him still, Jack’s loose foreskin, keeping both of them impossibly snug and hot and sealed together.

It looks grotesque, maybe, but it feels… phenomenal. It has his toes curling and his breath stuttering. He tries to look down his belly at what he’s done to the both of them, but every time he tilts his chin down, he goes cross-eyed.

Every time he shifts his hips, their tips bump and slip against each other and the feeling is absolutely electrifying. Gabriel is near sobbing within moments of Jack putting his stupid scheme in motion.

He already knows that there’ll be an absolute mess when they come. It’ll be disgusting and Gabriel will be _bitching_ – but Jack will love every second of feeling the hot silky cream fill the snug folds of their foreskins and bathing the heads of their cocks.

It’ll be absolutely worth it.


	11. Gavin/RK900

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin/RK900 – tsundere Gavin; touch starvation; crying during sex – Gavin is a very complicated human and a lot softer than he wants to admit to himself.

“I’m no f-fuckin’ damsel, y-you can- you can give it to me p-properly, tincan!”

A month ago, RK900 would have coolly commented on the way that the Detective can barely get out a whole sentence without his hiccuping and close-to-crying botching it into near unrecognizability. He is nothing but a quick learner, however, so he wisely keeps his quiet while Detective Reed is shuddering beneath him and trying to wipe his wet face as inconspicuously as possible on his forearms.

_You suffer under what academic papers call touch starvation, Detective. I recommend a lifestyle that opens you up for more possibilities of human interaction in order to minimize the mental and physical stress put on your person…_  had not gone over well, and he doubts with a 97.6% probability that the Detective will take kindly to any mention of it now, either.

Nines stares at the back of the Detective’s head while formulating a response that will hopefully be taken in stride. His hips do not stop their pumping; they neither slow down, nor speed up. They just keep at it; pushing his cock into the warm, welcoming clutch of Reed’s body with deep, mechanized accuracy and drag back out with the same perfectly calculated aplomb.

“Even distressed damsels can take a cock better than you, Detective,” he finally settles on. Reed freezes the exact second that his overheated brain manages to parse what Nines has said; then suddenly the android has to fight to keep the Detective pressed down against the bed and his cock lodged in his guts when Reed is spitting and hissing like an angry cat and trying to squirm out from beneath him.

“I will fucking _end_ you you useless plastic piece of shit!” Reed screeches. His voice is breaking quite spectacularly. He sounds stuffy and wet from quiet not-crying, and Nines can tell via the sensitive sensors in his cock that the Detective’s body temperature has climbed by almost a whole degree in his outrage. (And excitement. Always a submissive, self-loathing kind of excitement that Detective Gavin Reed would never admit to).

“Let me _go_!” he cries when he realizes that despite his writhing and squirming and flying elbows he is still neatly pressed to the mattress and gets his belly filled with the android’s plastic cock.

There’s a moment of confused jerking when Nines indeed suddenly lets go of him.

Gavin pauses, then twists his upper body around and stares up at Nines in what he probably thinks is absolute rage but actually looks just… Pitiful.

His face is red and wet with tears, mouth pressed into a trembling line. They stare at each other quietly. Nines’ LED is spinning a constant yellow at his temple, eyes squinting slightly as he looks down at him and waits for Gavin’s next move.

When nothing more happens, Nines slowly lowers the hands he had held up well-visible to slowly curl around Gavin’s twisted hips.

“More?” he asks softly, and Gavin sniffs loud and wet and wipes across his face again. His mannerisms are that of a little boy. He slowly nods, and Nines helps him to turn around some more. He does keep one of Gavin’s legs to drape across his shoulder while straddling his other thigh.

When he slides back home it is smooth and without a hitch – that is, other than the Detective’s hitching breath. When RK900 continues fucking him again, Reed is hiccuping wetly with every inwards press. He can’t bear to look up at the android while he’s getting fucked, so he presses one hand across his contorting face to hide himself away.

The other hand he has put across Nines’ thirium pump. He’s never showed him how to pull it out or even mentioned the delicacy of this part of his anatomy, but despite the Detective’s best efforts to the contrary, Nines is very much aware of his intelligence. There is not much extrapolation needed to conclude that he must be aware of the role the faint blue ring shimmering through Nines’ synthetic skin has.

Nines is not as romantic or emotional as his predecessor, but he does possess some, what he calls… rudimentary notions of such anyway. (Connor would probably disagree on their rudimentality but that is neither here nor there). So instead of slapping Gavin's hand away in annoyance, Nines lets him feel the steady thrum of his thirium pump as it works the liquid through his body.

So this is how they do it: Nines slowly fucking him; spreading him open on his cock, dicking in deeper and deeper with every slow, intrusive push – and Gavin holding on for dear life; to Nines’ thirium pump and his own face. Whatever that is supposed to mean.

His hiccupping sobs quiet down eventually. His breath is deep and wet; almost as if he had cried himself to sleep while getting fucked by an android. Nines would have been… concerned… if he weren’t monitoring his heart rate.

It is rabbiting away in his chest. Nines stares at it. There is a bullet wound scar almost in Gavin’s armpit. There’s a thicker cluster of hair right between his pecs. He kind of wants to reach down and put his palm against it to feel the quick thumpthumpthump of Gavin’s heart and the dry crinkle of his chest hair.

He frowns to himself and slightly shakes his head, hips hitching for the very first time, then coming to a stop.

The Detective makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, then finally moves his fingers so he can peek out between them at RK900 ranging over him, cool and collected und very perfect.

“...more?” he rasps with a small voice.

The corner of Nines’ mouth twitches. He reaches out and puts his hand on the Detective’s chest, mirroring Gavin.

Gavin gasps and shudders, skin breaking out into immediate goosebumps.

Nines slowly continues moving.


	12. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – oviposition; old men; embarrassment/humiliation kink; siren!Gabriel – Gabriel has to be up close and personal when Jack lays his clutch.

Jack is trying to breathe through the cramps that are making his abdomen seize, but it is difficult when he can feel Gabriel’s eerie, glowing eyes watch every of his motions with a shameless kind of excitement.

“Do you… D-do you mind?!” he hisses, flush crawling up his neck and making his ears burn a hot, bright red. Gabriel is still at the shore, his powerful tail splashing in the water as he watches Jack with single minded interest.

“You look beautiful carrying my clutch, Jackie,” Gabriel purrs, eyes going heavy lidded. He rolls slightly to the side, craning his neck so he can see Jack’s asshole, flushed and plump and trying its best to prolapse – at least that is what it feels like right now.

Jack flushes darker and reaches down, covering his shame with one big hand as another cramp slides like a hot knife into is gut, and he can feel the hard, round shapes in the twists and turns of his intestines _move_.

“Oh God,” he croaks. He’s too old for this. They both are – but he is in particular. He’s an old fisherman and not a goddamn _hussy_ that can be filled with a clutch of dud eggs to-

But apparently he is. Gabriel pushes himself up on his arms, immediately alert with a kind of excited laser focus that is absolutely overwhelming for Jack at that point.

“Is it time?!” he wants to know, and starts to drag himself on shore with his powerful arms despite having assured Jack that he’ll just be watching from afar as Jack makes an absolute heel out of himself and squats above a nest made of algae and bears down on the clutch that Gabriel has filled him with a week prior to the absolute limit.

He probably should have known better than that. He probably _had_ known better, deep down, and just hoped that Gabriel would actually pull through, but… Well.

There the old siren is in all his battle scarred glory; dragging his tail with the paralyzed right fins along the stone that he had opted would be the best spot for Jack to… Well. Give birth, he supposes.

_They’re just duds_ , he tries to calm himself, but Gabriel’s intense, luminous stare seems to speak another story altogether. Jack shudders. He is still wearing at least his shirt because they’re at sea and he is _too goddamn old_  for this whole thing, but Gabriel is not interested in his tits at the moment anyway.

While the siren usually is a very generous lover, this time he is only interested in Jack’s ass and the way his hole has gone loose and plump.

“Their fluid is working,” Gabriel murmurs, voice gone deep and rough. He is close enough that Jack can hear the gentle, strangely melodic click-and-clack of all the shells and snail houses and little rocks he had slung in necklaces around his person or woven into his hair.

Jack has no idea what the fuck he is talking about. He is preoccupied with clenching his teeth through yet another wave of cramps and being horrified at feeling something _drip_ from his hole before it becomes strangely numb.

“I have wrapped them in a special egg sac,” Gabriel croons. It should not sound as erotic as it does. Jack definitely shouldn’t get a hard-on for it. He screws his eyes shut and presses one hand against his scruffy, weathered face while bearing down on the clutch.

“It bursts open when they are ready to be laid and the toxins will numb your body and help your muscles loosen up…”

That, at least, gets Jack’s attention.

“Toxins?!” he croaks, alarmed. Gabriel is so close now, he can smell the salt from his skin. The siren is close enough to touch, but doesn’t. He lies down on the cold stones and stares with a kind of adoration at Jack’s hole that it makes him go hot and cold with horrified embarrassment.

“Very gentle toxins,” Gabriel assures him. It is not assuring. Jack wants to scream at him and maybe throw a punch or two, but the eggs are coming and he can’t do anything but focus on the strange sensation of being able to feel the first one drop into his large intestine and travelling along one or two loops before he simply… Stops feeling it.

The others are following along in a neat little row of pearls. They are neither pearls nor little. Jack instinctively bears down. He wonders where he has the instinct from.

He is squatting above a nest Gabriel had made, sweating and cramping and pushing out eggs from his plump hole whose muscles got made loose and pliant by some… Some toxin.

Gabriel is watching with laser intent, his cock having slid out of its slit, curling long and juicy red and prehensile against his scaly tail. There is slick dripping from the thin, tapered tip, and Jack has the surreal feeling of wanting to feel it inside him even though the last time they fucked this stupid delicious cock betrayed him and put egg after egg into his belly.

He doesn’t want Gabriel watching him lay a bunch of eggs, but here they are; Jack seems to have little say in what is happening above a slew of embarrassing grunts as he pushes out egg after egg.

Whatever. They’re just duds anyway. Soon he will be able to go back to his little hut and drink himself into an early stupor. Maybe jerk off beforehand because the whole thing is kinda hot.

He does not see how a few of the eggs are gently wriggling.


	13. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – old men; trans man Gabriel; penetration (with fingers); sex with feelings – It’s been decades since Jack had been able to do this.

Gabriel flips Jack onto his back and straddles him. There is something royal about him in the way he looks down on the other, back straight and shoulders squared.

Like he’s mounted up on a horse instead of putting his lover into his place.

Jack smirks up at him. Maybe he’s just seeing things; his eyes are not as good as they used to be. In his mind, Gabriel will always be this, though: proud and mind-numbingly handsome.

Sitting up as he is, Jack can only make his face out as a blurr. He feels like there might be a bit of grey in his mustache and goatee now, but when he drags his fingertips across them, they are as well-groomed as ever.

“Got me now,” he purrs. He can hear Gabriel inhale sharply when his voice vibrates through his belly where his lover is pressing his cock against him.

“Shut up, oh my god,” Gabriel groans. One big, calloused hand comes to press against Jack’s collar bone, pinning him more firmly into the mattress. Gabriel sounds pissed off, but he always sounds like that nowadays; he is perpetually hoarse, and perpetually grumpy, but Jack doesn’t exactly mind.

He’s spent too many years of his life wanting to have Gabriel back.

“I will, if you give my mouth something to do…” He grins slowly, hips rolling up and into his old lover. It is a gamble, but one he is more than willing to take. He’s had Gabriel back for a little over a month now, and while he hasn’t been entirely unhappy with Jack initiating cuddles and make-out sessions that leave him aching and hard, he has not been willing to do anything more.

Jack tries to look cute, but he knows he’s probably hopelessly failing. Neither of them is what one would call cute in any stretch of the imagination, and Gabriel couldn’t be less impressed if he tried.

Still… it must be doing _something_ for him, because suddenly a wide palm is pressing down on Jack’s mouth until his teeth hurt. Gabriel leans across him, his voice deep and dangerous as he whispers: “A single fucking word and I am _out_.”

He only takes his hand away when Jack nods, his own hands up at his shoulders in clear defeat. His cock is already interested, dragging against Gabriel’s ass when he rolls his hips up again, slow and sensual and feeling like his heart might give out after all when Gabriel’s hot breath puffs against his chin and jaw.

“Alright… you keep nice and quiet… There’s a good boy, Jackie…”

Jack pulls in a shuddering breath, hips keeping up a slow pump, and eyes fluttering shut when Gabriel presses down against him. Finally ready to play.

.o.

Gabriel wants to sit on Jack’s face at first, but Jack doesn’t have the range of motion he would like to have to really enjoy this treat, so after a short back-and-forth – Jack not saying a damn word just like he promised – Gabriel lets himself plop to the side with ill grace.

His cock is pressing against the fabric of his underwear. Jack wonders if it has grown since the last time he’s been allowed to go down on his friend. It’s been… way too long. Years. Decades.

He peels Gabriel’s shorts back and pulls a sharp breath through his nose. There’s slick against the fabric of the crotch. His labia are plump and shiny from it. They look juicy; tasty like a goddamn peach, and at their apex is that very cock that Jack has missed so very much.

A fat, sturdy dick with a nice tip that has pushed itself out of the hood and is belying the dark expression on the man’s face; like he hates being here almost as much as he hates Jack.

None of it is true. Gabriel has always been a gifted actor.

He can’t keep up with it much when Jack basically falls face first into his crotch and fucks his dick into his mouth and against the waiting, soft pad of his tongue.

When he tastes Gabriel for the first time in years, his mouth immediately starts to water. He closes his eyes, nose buried against the greying thatch of pubes, inhaling his musky scent as he closes his lips nice and welcoming around his dick.

He pushes the hood farther back, tongue dragging against the swollen tip. Gabriel tries to remain as quiet as possible above him, probably just to spite him, but his thick thighs are shaking around Jack’s shoulders and threatening to snap closed and probably end his sorry existence.

Jack would, quite honestly, say _thanks_ and _amen_. Gabriel is more scarred than he remembers; definitely more… smokey… but Jack is addicted to him.

There’s a moment of hesitation from Gabriel when he feels Jack’s broad fingertips gently tickle his hole; questing and careful (well remembering how Gabriel had kicked him in the head once when he hadn’t been in the mood for penetration). Eventually, he relaxes and just sighs, letting Jack slide thick fingers into him, crooking, searching, _rubbing_ against a slightly rougher patch that makes Gabriel’s thighs shake again and his back arch minimally.

It’s just the beginning, quite frankly. Jack can’t wait to make him cum; again and again; feel him fall apart as he gets his dick sucked and his hole stretched on a couple fingers that have learned him by heart and never forgot how to make him sing.

He can’t wait to be allowed to fuck Gabriel again. Root around in his belly with his dick and make him see stars.

He can’t wait to make up for all the lost fucking time.


	14. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – old men; fisting; Jack has a wet dick; Gabriel is out of it – They’ve never tried it before but they sure as hell will keep doing it from now.

Jack usually is not particularly wet. There might be a dab of pre-cum here or there, but nothing close to being enough to use for jerking off or getting things otherwise nice and smooth.

This time around, watching Gabriel Reyes easily open up to take his fist again and again, he feels like he is leaking like an old faucet.

It just keeps dripping; a slick line of pre-cum bubbling from his slit and stretching from the rosy flushed tip of his cock down to the bedspread. Every now and then his cock will flex, newly interested and excited at the impossible sight before him, and a thicker glob will drip from him.

His abdomen feels on fire; a weird kind of pressure that he only ever experiences when Angela has shoved her little fingers up his ass and is pressing against his prostate until she forces him to come without any of the nice orgasm feeling being involved.

He feels almost a bit sheepish; like he has no right to be that way when _Gabriel_ is the one with his rim stretched impossibly wide around Jack’s thick wrist. He slowly twists it, his fingers curled up into a big fist in Gabriel’s fascinatingly accommodating intestines, and drags his thick knuckles against the plump swell of his prostate.

Gabriel reacts – but not much. He groans long and drawn out; a slow crest and lowering of volume as he has his shoulders against the mattress and his ass just up enough for all of this to work.

He has become very quiet after his initial mindless sobbing when he had to stretch around the widest part of Jack’s hand for the first time, but now he is just… coasting on the feeling, it seems like.

In all their years together, Jack has never seen him so content and silent. Gabriel is a loud lover, usually; very unapologetic about showing his enjoyment, and seeing him so spaced-out and soft is doing almost more things to Jack than seeing his hole stretched this impossibly. _Feeling_ it stretched this impossibly.

He’s had his fingers in him of course, felt just how feverishly hot his partner is inside – especially after Moira has pumped him full of hellfire or whatever the fuck she did when she made him into what he is – but he’s never been able to feel it all around him like a snug, velvety glove.

It makes him want to push in deeper; have his nice loose hole slip-slide down his forearm.

Jack swallows hard. He feels like he is going to burst if he doesn’t voice any of the things that are running a mile a second through his head, so he just starts talking; just blurts it out in a low stream of consciousness that he dumps all over poor old Gabriel who does not seem like he can coordinate himself enough to breathe, let alone put his hands over his ears if he doesn’t want to hear Jack Morrison’s depravity.

“Dunno why we’ve waited this long,” Jack rasps heatedly. “Could’ve had you on my fist years ago. Could’ve punch fucked you on your birthday, Gabriel. Wouldya have liked that? Getting fist fucked in front of your birthday cake? Maybe could’ve worked you up to takin’ more of me by now. Oh God, Gabriel, I just wanna pump my fist into your guts until I’m elbow deep inside you.”

Jack pauses. He has to take a breath. His chest is still _burning_ , cock flexing and dribbling out another string of pre-cum. He wonders if he could come like this; just drip out his come without even realizing it because he’s so focused on watching Gabriel take him just because Jack asked him to. Just come like he does when Angela needs some weird samples and he has to crawl back to his partner and beg for a nice good fuck because he can’t make himself admit he likes being milked even at his age.

Gabriel does not react for the longest time. Jack wonders if he had even heard him or if he is too far in his own head to properly process what is being said and done to him.

Maybe Gabriel is just focused on feeling like he’s going to shit a brick. Or maybe it feels different altogether. Maybe it feels all alien and weird; like he is pregnant, belly full to the brim and someone moving inside him.

Jack slowly moves his fingers at that; a slow shifting of his knuckles, still dragging against Gabriel’s prostate until he suddenly pulls in a huge, rattling breath and arches his back farther, ass lifting minimally.

“Yes…” he slurs. Jack has no idea to what. His brain feels raw and cooked at the same time. His hips are doing a slow shimmie; fucking the air as he moves his arm minimally; sliding forwards and backwards and watching the inch or two of wetness on his wrist that tells him just how far he is fucking his _whole goddamn hand_  into this man.

They just kind of slid into it. There’s been no real talk about it. No real preparation. Just their old perverted selves and a lot of time and lube and determination… because Gabriel is nothing if not determined.

Jack thinks blearily that Angela would probably be horrified. It is a good think that she’s not there to witness it, then.


End file.
